Over The Rainbow
by Anna Queen
Summary: Buffy-Rainbow crossover. Hee! Zippy, George and Bungle are in great peril! Can Buffy save them in time? Or will her old arch enemy, Spike, have his wicked way first? Buffy-Spike ish...once she's got over Geoffrey, that is. Set in an alt. BtVS S5.
1. Chapter 1

**Over the Rainbow**  
**Part 1**

Not again, thought Geoffrey, as the unmistakable splintering of a door being kicked off its hinges shattered the quiet. He'd called the electrician only last week to see about getting a doorbell fitted, but when he mentioned his address he'd been met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He sighed as the sharp click-clack of heels on stone reverberated above him, wondering if he curled up and pretended to be asleep she'd go away and leave him in peace.

The leather-bound copy of Grimms' Fairy Tales that caught him with all-too-well-rehearsed aim on the head gave him an answer to that quickly enough. He rubbed his temples wearily as the room slipped out of focus, assaulted by myriad images of a five-foot blonde firecracker as she wrested the remote from him and switched off the TV.

"I was watching that," he protested, clinging to civility by the thinnest of edges.

"You were asleep."

"I was resting."

"And here's me thinking you'd done enough resting for one un-lifetime already. Anyway, I don't have time for small talk. I've got a job for you."

Maybe it was the crack about his "un-lifetime" – so he didn't get out that much. What of it? – or maybe the fact that throwing a book at a person's head suddenly counted as "small talk", but Geoffrey was in no mood to play ball. He got to his feet.

"Look, Buffy, I'd like to help you. But now isn't really a good time."

He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She had him pinned against the wall before he had a chance to take it back. "Don't forget, I could take you out like _that_ if I wanted," she spat.

_Take me out?_ Geoffrey gulped. It was true, she'd spent a lot of time down here lately, and she _did_ beat him up a lot, which he knew for some girls was like – well – _that_, but _this_?

She thrust her knee dangerously close to his groin, breathing heavily as she leaned in closer to add, "Are you in or are you out? Because if you're out, I'll make sure you're out - right out. Get me?"

He didn't get her – nor, for that matter, did he have any intention of getting her, not now, not ever – but he was uncomfortably conscious of her mouth, angry and inviting and inches from his own. Geoffrey felt nauseous. The timely whistle of the kettle came to his rescue. "I'd prefer it if you'd keep your hands to yourself," he said, extricating himself with what he hoped would pass for dignity. "I'm sure we can resolve this without resorting to violence," he added for good measure.

Geoffrey was sure he was a mild-mannered man at heart, but the Slayer had a habit of rubbing him up the wrong way.

_Not_ like that. He shuddered, willing himself to focus on something less disconcerting.

"Drink?" he offered, waving the teapot in her direction.

"A world of no."

"Suit yourself." He drummed his fingers nervously on the counter as he waited for the tea to draw, suppressing a sigh of annoyance as the Slayer relaxed battle posture and settled herself on the couch, pointy heels digging into the fabric.

"Do sit down," said Geoffrey a little acidly.

Sarcasm, it seemed, was lost on the Slayer. She turned towards him, eyes and tone softened to something that was no doubt meant to be conciliatory. "Look, I'd ask Giles, but he's on vacation in England right now."

Geoffrey poured out his cup of tea and made his way over to her, gingerly perching at the opposite end of the couch, and staring fixedly at the stray tealeaves floating at the top of the cup.

"What do you want?"

She reached into her jacket pocket and handed him a crumpled photocopy. "I want you to do what you do best. I need the down and dirty on William the Bloody here."

He shifted uneasily at her choice of words, but responded as calmly as he could. "Who is he?"

"Like you don't know. C'mon, William the Bloody? Double-Slayer-killing Legend in the Vampire Hall of Fame?"

"I suppose he does look vaguely familiar," Geoffrey admitted, squinting hard at the photocopied picture. "What is it with you, always going after the big shots?"

"I'm the Slayer. It's my job. The small fry – you, for instance – might as well be dealt with by the amateurs. But when it comes to taking out the guys at the top, I'm your girl."

"Not _my_ girl, obviously," Geoffrey clarified, awkwardly.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Obviously. You're a demon, for a start."

Geoffrey turned to her in exasperation, feeling like a scratched record as he tried to tell her for what felt like the billionth time.

"I'm not a demon."

"You live in a crypt."

"The TV reception is great, that's all. And it's quiet. _Was_ quiet," he added, pointedly.

He could have driven his point in with a stake and she still wouldn't have registered it.

"Look, I need to find him, OK? He's killed two Slayers already. I have to get to him before I'm number three. I don't care who you have to eat to make them talk, but someone round here has to know where he's got to." She got to her feet. "Tomorrow night I'll be out on patrol. You turn up without the info I need, you leave without your privates. Understood?"

Geoffrey nodded, resolving firmly to investigate the cost of having iron bars put across the crypt entrance. He waited until the echo of her footsteps had faded, and reached over for the TV remote. At least there were some places left in his world that the Slayer couldn't reach.

* * *

Bedtime in the Rainbow House was never as quick and quiet an event as Spike would have liked. Once upon a time, or so Spike liked to remember it, he'd been perfectly content in his role as guardian to Bungle, George and Zippy. But since the film crews had moved in, life hadn't run quite so smoothly. His three charges were inclined to play up for the cameras, and having his every move broadcast to the nation made him feel like an animal trapped in a cage.

"Spi-ike! We're ready," came the chorus from the bedroom.

He popped his head round the door. "Sit tight and I'll read you one of my poems."

"That'll send us to sleep all right," sniggered Zippy.

"Shhh, Zippy! I like Spike's poems." George smiled warmly up at Spike from under thick eyelashes.

Spike bit his lip hard, his gaze flitting down briefly to George's plump, pink neck.

"Tell you what, we'll have a story instead."

George wriggled excitedly. "Can we have the Sleeping Beauty, Spike?"

"Oooh yes, I like that one," Bungle agreed.

"The Sleeping Beauty it is, then." Spike sat down beside them. "Lie still then. Once upon a time there lived a princess, holed up in a castle with no-one but the animals to play with - "

"You missed the beginning!" Zippy interrupted.

Spike gritted his teeth.

"Once upon a time _was_ the beginning. Now quieten down, or you won't get a story at all."

Forty-five minutes later Spike closed the bedroom door behind him, the sound of snoring from inside the room the signal for the cameras to stop rolling for the day. He walked over to the kitchen cupboard, reaching deep towards the back and pulling out the glass bottle he kept hidden there.

Bungle had left out his colouring pencils. Spike went to clear them away, but as he picked up the yellow he stopped, and traced an outline on the paper in front of him. He stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, before screwing it up and hurling it at the wall.

"Bugger that," he said.

He poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels, lit a cigarette, and switched on the TV. _Passions_ was on in five, and if that wasn't the panacea to all evils, he was damned if he knew what was.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

**Over the Rainbow**

**Part 2**

It was one thing, Buffy thought, to look out for a mystical, Dawn-shaped key, the kind that came in handy if you wanted to unlock dimensions and set loose hell beasties on earth. But keeping track of her front door key? Not so easy. As she stood on the porch rummaging through her purse the smell of freshly ground coffee wafted out to her, and her mom's voice, bright and animated. Buffy couldn't catch the words, but she heard the note of laughter that followed, deep and throaty and distinctly male. Giles? Not unless Giles had picked up teleporting over in England. Realisation hit her, her throat suddenly dry.

She found her key at last and burst into the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here, duh." Dawn pouted at Buffy.

"Not you. Him."

"Buffy! Geoffrey knows he's welcome to drop by whenever he likes." Joyce looked at her daughter reproachfully. "Muffin?"

Buffy took the muffin automatically, trying to process all that was implied. _Geoffrey comes here often. Mom and Geoffrey - _

"Joyce, it's been a pleasure," - _first name terms_, Buffy registered, dully - "But I should get going. Which reminds me, I need to have a word with your eldest."

Buffy followed him reluctantly out into the hallway.

"What?" she hissed, "And why are you here?"

"You told me to come," Geoffrey replied, easily.

"I told you to meet me on patrol," Buffy snapped, "And to stay away from my family! I would have thought after that whole business when Dawn went missing - "

"She was hardly missing, Buffy. I was helping her make your mom a birthday card, that was all. And she promised she'd told you where she was - " He stopped, because the way she was looking at him un-nerved him, and it struck him that the quicker he got his over with, the easier it would be for both of them.

Buffy was clearly thinking along the same lines. "Just tell me what you came here to tell me."

He gestured to the battered DeSoto parked across the road. "I'll do better than tell you; I'll show you."

Buffy looked up at him warily. "I've seen the car before."

"Not the car. There's something I have to show you back at the crypt. I thought I might as well give you a lift, since I was passing by."

"You don't pass by; you - oh, never mind." She shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "Come on then."

The car journey back to Geoffrey's was a distinctly awkward one. His choice of music disturbed her – nursery rhymes seemed kind of odd for a grown man – not to mention his off-key humming. When they arrived at the crypt she was almost relieved.

"Have a seat," Geoffrey offered, as he started hunting through the stack of video tapes next to the TV.

Buffy set herself down on the couch, the niggling sense of discomfort she'd been feeling ever since she'd heard his voice in the kitchen earlier that afternoon growing by the minute.

"What are you doing?"

"I have something here I thought you'd appreciate; that's all. Ah, here it is."

He reached over for the remote, but Buffy grabbed it and held it away from him. 

"What is this? The car ride, the movie, the sucking up to my mom? Is this a date?"

Geoffrey turned pale. "Are you…do you…want it to be?"

Buffy moved so sharply it was a miracle the couch didn't catch alight. "What? Are you out of your mind?"

Geoffrey took a deep breath. If it had to be said, he had a feeling it would best to take cover first. He began to reassemble his rather precarious video tower, aiming for something a little broader and with more full-frontal coverage.

Buffy glared at him. "_Now_ what are you doing?"

"Health and safety. Just a precautionary measure."

He dug his heels into the floor, willing it to be over as quickly as possible.

"Buffy, listen. It's not so unusual. Two people, in the workplace: feelings develop..." He carried on quickly, sensing even from behind his video barricade a note of volcano-about-to-blow from the direction of the couch. "I understand, I do, but - we have to keep this strictly a business relationship."

He ducked down low behind the videos, bracing himself. She paused for what seemed an unbearably long moment before replying. "And this is, what, a business meeting? Complete with business movie?"

"That's right." He handed her the video tape, grateful for the chance to change the subject.

She turned it over, suspiciously. "And you had to bring me here? We have a VCR at home."

"I know, but this is – it's not something I wanted your mom to see."

"You disgust me."

"It's not like that!" Geoffrey protested.

Buffy looked at him long and hard. "Well I guess there's only one way to find out." She reached forward and put the tape into the machine, flicking the remote with the same kind of precision that Geoffrey had seen wipe out minor demon populations.

They both sat in silence as the clip started playing, Buffy looking less than impressed. Geoffrey reflected with no small measure of gratitude and relief on his lucky escape minutes earlier. Clearly her taste in quality viewing left something to be desired.

She turned to him. "So they're demons. Big deal."

"Rod, Jane and Freddy are demons?" Geoffrey was incredulous. "How can you tell?"

"It's obvious."

"Is it the scales?"

Buffy peered at the screen more closely. "They have scales?"

Geoffrey nodded, deadpan. "Yes, you know, scales." He cleared his throat. "Do-re-mi-fa- "

As the fine-tuning of slayer skills went, this Slayer had the withering look honed to perfection. Geoffrey withered.

Buffy elaborated, impatiently. "I do not have time for this. But since you ask, they're orange, they've obviously got some kind of immortality thing going for them, and then there's the ritual chanting - " She stopped, suddenly, every Slayer sense prickling as she became aware of the scene change that had unfolded in front of them. Geoffrey watched her reaction as she stared at the screen, transfixed.

"Is it...can it...is it - him? How? And...what happened to his hair?" 

Geoffrey pulled out the photocopy she'd given him the day before. "I'd say this sketch was taken around the turn of the century, judging by the way he's dressed. It's why I didn't make the connection straight away."

Buffy stabbed a finger at the TV screen. "They are in danger. Unless they're like - his minions. That yellow one is kinda evil looking. "

"Zippy? He's not evil." Geoffrey looked across at her, defensively. "More quirky."

Buffy continued. "Minions or not, I have to go check it out. Do you know where exactly it is?"

"No." Geoffrey felt a rush of excitement at the surprise he had in store for her. "But I know how to get you there."

"You're good. Remind me to give you a raise."

"You don't pay me," Geoffrey pointed out.

"That's handy." She across at him in surprise as she realised he was holding a box out towards her. "What's this?"

"Take a look."

Buffy lifted the lid cautiously.

"Shiny." As she took out the pair of red shoes to examine them more closely, a thought struck her. "How did you know my size?" she asked warily, her head suddenly full of disturbing visions of pilfered underwear and shrines in the basement.

"I noticed last time you threw a shoe at my head. But as it happens they only come in this size. There's only one pair."

Ohmigod, one-off limited edition designer shoes. It so _was_ a date.

Geoffrey looked at her curiously. "You know what they are, don't you?"

"Manolo Blahnik?" Buffy hazarded.

Geoffrey looked at her in exasperation. "OK, let's see, previous owners include the Wicked Witch of the East and a girl named Dorothy."

Buffy screwed up her face. "There've been previous owners? You gave me second-hand shoes?"

Geoffrey was starting to feel he was hitting his head against a brick wall. "Earth to Buffy, are we getting through here?" He gave in to a full-throttle flourish. "Madam, you have there in your hand one pair of genuine ruby slippers."

"_The_ ruby slippers?"

"The very same."

"How did you get hold of these?"

"Ebay."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Well, that's great and everything, but I don't actually think I have anything they'll go with."

Geoffrey counted slowly to ten in his head. "Don't you see? They'll take you over the rainbow."

"That's not what they did in the film."

Oh, so _now_ you've seen the film, thought Geoffrey waspishly, but he explained patiently, "They're guaranteed. Over the rainbow or your money back."

Buffy slowly unzipped her boots. "This had better work. If we end up in Munchkinland - "

"We?" Geoffrey hurried to put her right. "There's no way _I'd_ get into those shoes. No, you're on your own for this one, Cinderella."

Buffy got to her feet. "Fine," she said, and without looking back at him she clicked her heels together three times.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

The better part of a bottle of Jack Daniels had seemed like a good idea at the time, but in the harsh light of day Spike wasn't so sure. Breakfast had a habit of descending into chaos at the best of times, but this morning was taking the cake. Zippy had just flicked Weetabix at Bungle, George was in tears and the blinding flash that had just illuminated the kitchen was really not helping.

He looked up.

"Thank goodness you're here."

Buffy was taken aback. "You were expecting me?"

"You're here for the story, right, Princess?"

Buffy had a feeling she should set him straight before she embroiled herself in something above and beyond the call of slayer duty, but she was uncomfortably aware of the hopeful gazes of a bear, a hippo, and a – thing – fixed upon her, and nowhere in her training had letting down stuffed animals been covered.

Spike didn't wait for her reply. "We're not done here yet so you might as well take a pew."

Even allowing for the fact that he was evil and undead, Buffy was affronted. "I'll go to the bathroom when I'm good and ready, thanks."

"I'll keep that in mind." Did she imagine it, or was that bloodlust glinting in his eyes? "But in the mean time sit down and get some of this inside you."

Buffy's gaze had flitted involuntarily south of the Weetabix packet he held out to her, and the twitch of his mouth told her he hadn't missed it.

"No thank you," she said, pointedly, and sat down next to George.

"You can have mine," said Zippy, "It's all soggy."

"'S better that way," countered Spike, crumbling some into the mug beside him. "Eat up while the milk's still warm."

Buffy leaned over, trying to make out what it was that he was drinking.

"Want some?"

"No!" Buffy wrinkled her nose as she pulled back.

Spike looked faintly amused. "There's more in the pot minus the Weetabix, if you like it the traditional way." He drained the contents of the cup, smacking his lips in a way that made Buffy reach up, uncomfortably, to the scar on her neck.

"You're new, aren't you?"

"I'm Buffy."

He grinned. "That too. Well, this is Zippy – Bungle – George – and I'm Spike. But you knew that."

Buffy looked up sharply, but Spike continued unperturbed, reaching across her to refill his mug.

"You've seen the show?"

"I've seen enough," she replied, abruptly.

Spike said nothing, but he shot her a questioning look.

"What are you going to read us, Buffy?" asked George.

Buffy reasoned that she should do something before she found herself in over her head, but somehow, whipping out a stake didn't seem like the answer. She had a flash of inspiration. "I thought maybe Spike would like to tell us a story."

Spike spluttered. "What are you here for then, decoration? I've got George for that, haven't I, pumpkin?"

George glowed a rosier shade of pink as Spike continued with a wink. "Dab hand with a paintbrush, aren't you, George?"

He went on before George could reply. "S'alright, I've got a plan. You'll have to help me out though. Everyone sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. This is the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears."

"That's Spike's favourite," Zippy snerked.

"Can I be Goldilocks?" asked Bungle.

In spite of herself, Buffy caught Spike's eye, the suppressed smile in her own glittering back at her.

"Buffy is going to be Goldilocks."

Bungle looked disappointed, but Spike leaned across and nudged him. "Cheer up, big guy. You can be Baby Bear." Bungle brightened visibly as Spike turned to the others. "Zippy? Finish those last two spoonfuls and I'll let you be father bear. And George, you can be mother bear."

"Oh, I like mother bear," George beamed.

"Once upon a time three bears lived in a house in a wood. One morning they sat down to eat their porridge, and father bear - "

"What's porridge, Spike?" asked Bungle.

"It's what they make bears do if they interrupt," Spike answered, severely. "You know what porridge is, Bungle. We had some the other week."

"It looked like puke." Zippy interjected.

"Yes, thank you, Zippy. So, father bear took a big spoonful of his porridge, and said - "

"This breakfast tastes like vomit. Let's go for a walk." Zippy supplied.

"So the three bears set off for a stroll in the forest before breakfast. Did I say you could get down? Oh right, I did. Along comes this snip of a girl with yellow hair, and finding there's nobody at home she thinks she'll have a poke around. Where are you going?"

"You said to have a poke around," Buffy protested.

She felt the phrasing sink in like fangs closing in on her neck, the delay before Spike's reply making it all too clear he was devouring it. "That comes later. We'll eat first."

Buffy glared at him across the table as he continued. "So first of all she digs in to Daddy Bear's porridge. But it's – "

There was a pause as Spike looked expectantly at Buffy and she pressed her lips resolutely together, only to find his three charges giving her that eager look again, and before she could stop herself she heard herself comply.

"Too hot."

Spike smirked. "Too right." He stretched across and slid George's bowl towards her. "So she moves on to bowl number two. But this one's – "

Buffy pushed the bowl back to him. "Too cold."

"More's the pity." He sighed. "Luckily for Goldilocks, Baby Bear's porridge hits the spot and before you can say Atkins diet she's polished it off."

He went on. "The thing about porridge is, it goes straight to your knees, and next thing you know, she's looking for somewhere to sit down and put her feet up. So she tries Daddy's chair, but the trouble is, it's - "

Buffy moved to the chair Zippy held out for her. "Too hard."

"Funny you should say that." Spike wrapped one arm behind his head, looking at her in a way that had her heading hastily for the couch before he could elaborate.

"Mommy Bear's chair was comfy but so soft it kinda ate you up."

"Ate you?" Spike repeated. "Interesting. Go on."

Buffy settled herself in the rocking chair. "Baby Bear's chair was a keeper. At least, it would have been but for the whole breaking thing – "

Spike batted back her provocative glance. "Ever seen a grizzly with a broken rocking chair? You wouldn't, either. Round three, I think." He leaned back in his chair. "How are you with bedroom scenes?"

Buffy opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by an ear-splitting scream from outside. She was on her feet in an instant, Baby Bear's chair left reeling as she raced for the door. Finding it locked she stepped back, moving to kick it down when a hand on her shoulder stalled her, and a voice muttered in her ear.

"What's this, breaking and entering? It's a children's show, remember."

Buffy spun round, finding herself alarmingly nose-to-nose with Spike as she hissed, "Technically, this is breaking and exiting. And somebody out there needs help!"

In answer, he leaned in closer, pinning her to the door as he reached behind her head. For a heartbeat, Buffy hesitated, her arms suddenly heavy at her sides in spite of the rush of Slayer sense pulsing through her. The clunk of a bolt sliding back brought her to her senses, and she ducked under his arm as the door swung open, turning her back on him as he held up his hands and stepped aside with mocking gallantry.

Outside, a blonde woman Buffy recognised as Jane from the video was sprawled on the grass, while her two companions hovered over her, awkwardly.

"Is it broken?" one of them – Rod? – asked tentatively.

"Of course it's broken!" she snapped. "Help me up, will you."

"Maybe you shouldn't move it," ventured Freddy.

Jane rolled her eyes. "It's a broken nail. You can probably hold off with the stretcher."

"Is that all?" Rod clarified, tactlessly.

"It hurts! Tell him." Jane appealed to Buffy, who had come forward to offer her assistance.

"It's way up there. Just below actual death."

"Thank you." Jane got to her feet. "Sorry, I don't know who you are."

"Buffy. I'm new."

"Hi Buffy," Rod held out his hand. "Welcome to the show. Jane, are you OK to run that through once more?"

Jane was unenthusiastic. "And be dropped again? No thank you. I'm sitting this one out, boys."

Spike called over from the doorway. "Come on in, love. Make yourself a cup of tea."

"Oh come on Janie, we can work around the lift." Freddy coaxed.

"Uh-uh. I'm black and blue. I'm taking Spike up on the tea."

"But what about the routine?" Rod persisted.

Spike's voice cut in. "I reckon Goldilocks here can throw a shape or two."

Buffy swung round. "The only thing I'm gonna be throwing is – you – are – outside."

"Prepositions is Tuesday. Nice try though, pet."

As missions went, this one was really not going to plan. There had been the whole role play thing with the three bears, not to mention the Weetabix. And now her double-slayer-killing vampire legend was standing outdoors in the sunshine, dispensing grammar advice. If that's who he was. There was definite prickling, but she was starting to doubt that it was exactly Slayer-based. Short of staking him through the heart and seeing whether he a) crumbled to ashes or b) bled to death, she was running out of ways to call this one.

"OK, so Buffy? If you just take position next to Freddy and we'll mark it from the top"

Buffy turned to Spike. "Tell me this isn't happening."

His eyes danced blue light back at her. "This isn't happening. And I'm not reserving a ringside seat." A crash from the kitchen claimed his attention, and he nodded over his shoulder. "I'd better get back or we'll be making war rather than that other thing." He winked. "You know what they say about tea." He smiled, reaching out suddenly to press her arm. "You'll be all right. You've got the legs for it."

Buffy shook her head after him as he went back inside, taking the hand Freddy held out nevertheless.

"On my count then," Rod began. "One, two, three – "

Buffy felt strangely light-headed and light-hearted. The grass under her feet felt springy, the sun was warm on her face, and even the whistle of the kettle seemed to lift her spirits. Keeping in Slayer shape did mean being primed for the unexpected, she reflected, pushing her hair back from her face as she flexed her leg and twirled around in a perfect pirouette.

And another.

And another.

And then suddenly she couldn't stop, her feet pounding the ground and her heart thumping into overdrive as she danced harder and faster, her breath forced out of her body, round and round, spinning in a frenzy, blood hissing in her ears and swimming in front of her eyes and drumming her head into a pulp and then –

And then nothing but arms around her, holding her fast, a chest pressed against hers, and a voice in her hair that whispered,

"Hold still, Goldilocks. I've got you."

_To be concluded_


	4. Chapter 4

For a moment Buffy stood without moving, mesmerised by the hypnotic thud of her own heartbeat, and then Slayer mode kicked in – not to mention the smell of burning – and she pulled away.

She looked across at Spike, the unmistakable outline of a charred cross still smouldering on his chest.

"How is it, you can stand out here in the sunlight, and yet this - " she reached inside her shirt and lifted out the cross pendant, holding it toward him - "does _that_?"

Spike held up his hand. "Don't mention it." His mouth twisted. "Oh wait, you didn't."

Buffy's eyes blazed. "What, you want me to thank you? For stepping in? This was your idea, don't forget. How do I know it wasn't just some kind of elaborate eating ritual?"

He looked at her, steadily. "The answer to your first question is, it isn't real." He pointed towards the sky and in spite of herself Buffy followed his gaze upwards. "The sunlight."

Shading her eyes Buffy could dimly make out a string of studio lights criss-crossing the blue arc above them.

"You didn't think it was strange we had a rainbow and no rain?"

At that moment Rod and Freddy came racing up, belatedly recovering their senses.

"What happened there?"

Buffy jabbed a finger towards Spike.

"He is a vampire."

Rod relaxed. "Yeah, but he has that thing." He turned to Freddy. "I guess we should call it a day. Thanks for your help, Buffy. See you around."

Spike smirked as the two men walked away. "You heard him, I have that thing." He frowned suddenly. "They don't usually give out that kind of information to guests – me being a vampire, I mean."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "I did my research."

"Who are you?"

"Buffy. The vampire slayer, to you."

Spike raised his eyebrows. "_The_ Slayer? And yet I'm still breathing. Well, not breathing exactly." He tilted his head towards her. "Is it because I have that thing?"

Before Buffy could reply there was screech of brakes, and a battered DeSoto rounded the corner and rammed to a halt in front of them.

"Geoffrey?" Buffy exclaimed, as he emerged from the car, red-faced and panting.

"We made a mistake," he burst out.

"We? So wait, you tell me I'm on my own for this one, you mess up, and that's my fault too how?"

Spike looked on, amusement crackling in his face.

Geoffrey hung back awkwardly. "The shoes...they, um...they're not a matching pair."

"Telling me I've got two left feet might not be your best move right now," Buffy cautioned.

Geoffrey shook his head. "No, one of each. That's the problem. The right one's the wrong shoe."

"And the left one's right?" Spike cut in, rolling his eyes in mock horror. "Cover your ears, children. Remember what we learnt about directions last week."

"Shut up. What do you mean it's wrong?"

"There was a mix-up at the warehouse. They sent one ruby slipper and one red shoe."

Buffy stretched one foot out in front of her. "Come again?"

Geoffrey winced. "The Red Shoes belonged to a girl who danced to her death in them. I wouldn't jig your foot like that if I were you. Especially not the right one."

Buffy rounded on him, angrily. "It's a bit late for that. Tell me how it is that I'm sent here in the shoes of death and you appear to have come by road."

"The wonders of GPS," Geoffrey answered, with an attempted smile that was very quickly doused by the expression on Buffy's face.

Spike stepped in. "Cheer up, Goldilocks, there's no harm done. Wrong side of bed this morning was it? Or maybe it just wasn't your bed."

Buffy glowered at him. "Do not start."

"Believe me, I've no intention of getting involved. There were three in the bed, and the little one said, roll over, roll over. I'm going to leave you two to it."

Buffy leapt into action. "You are not going back inside that house. I came here to protect Zippy and George and...and - "

"Bungle," Spike supplied helpfully.

"Exactly."

Geoffrey's eyes lit up.

"Bungle and Zippy and George?"

"Oh my!" Spike chimed in. Buffy glared at him, but he was unrepentant. "What? Keep up, Dorothy. We're not in Kansas any more."

"Oh, if you only had a brain."

"I do have a brain. It's a heartbeat I'm lacking. Write that down. It'll come in useful, vampire slaying. Have you heard of a thing called a stake?"

"One more word out of you and I'll make you wish I hadn't."

Sensing that now might be a good moment to make his escape, Geoffrey headed into the house.

"He's harmless, right?" Spike asked, nodding his head in Geoffrey's direction.

"Comparatively," Buffy answered, pointedly.

"What is your problem? I seem to recall about ten minutes back you were on your way to being toast, if I hadn't risked being chargrilled myself to save you. Can't you cut me some slack?"

"You're William the Bloody. You killed two Slayers."

"And you weren't one of them?" Spike rejoined, his eyes glittering gold as he stepped towards her with a snarl.

He clutched his head in sudden pain as without warning the light around them dimmed, replaced by a flashing red beam and the shrill peal of an alarm.

A figure approached, shining a flashlight in their direction.

"We have a situation here. Move away from the Hostile, ma'am."

Buffy looked up in astonishment. "Riley?"

"Buffy?"

Spike groaned. "What is this, bleedin' _This is Your Life_?"

Riley ignored him. "How have you been?"

"Not so bad. You?"

"Doing OK, mostly." He bit his lip. "I should have known you'd come for him, sooner or later. I'm guessing it's him you're here for, and not me?" Buffy's silence answered that for him, and he continued. "Look, he won't recognise you. He's had his memories altered."

"I've had what?" thundered Spike.

"Hold on," Buffy reached out suddenly and laid her hand on Spike's arm. "What did you say?"

Riley gestured towards the house. "You'd better come inside."

* * * * *

It had taken no time for Geoffrey to make himself at home, Buffy noted wryly, as they headed back indoors. He was sitting at the table, sharing a pot of tea with Jane and overseeing a potato printing session. The animated chatter ceased abruptly as Riley walked past, barely acknowledging them as he settled himself on the couch. Buffy returned to the rocking chair, ignoring the look Spike flung in her direction as he drew up the straight-backed chair.

Riley appeared disconcerted as Zippy, George and Bungle assembled themselves eagerly on the rug in front of him, but began his story nevertheless.

"When I left Sunnydale I needed something to negotiate with. I had to prove I was for real. So I let the guys know where they could find Hostile 17."

"Find _what_?" Buffy queried.

"Your friend Spike here."

George beamed. "This story is about you," he informed Spike confidentially.

"Damn right it had better be," Spike winked back, but Buffy felt the note of menace in his tone.

"Go on," she said to Riley.

"They brought him here. It's a government facility for demon rehabilitation. This is the observation program. They have cameras in here twenty-four seven."

Spike spluttered. "What? My contract says cameras stop rolling at lights out."

"Your contract also says no alcohol."

Spike looked shame-faced.

Buffy surveyed the scene around her and turned to Riley, incredulously. "Wait, this is scientific research?"

"Right. We knew the chip would stop him hurting humans, but we wanted to find out if behaviour modification would allow him to live peaceably among benign sub-human species, like anthropomorphised bears."

"I don't understand anything you're saying. Except maybe bears. What's a chip?"

"You remember."

"No, that's just it, Riley, I don't remember. I don't remember anything about my friend Spike here except that he has this weird way of talking me into things I have no intention of doing."

"Thanks," Spike acknowledged.

Momentary panic ruptured Riley's composure. "You don't remember him? At all? That's - surprising." He thought for a moment. "You don't watch Passions, do you?"

Buffy looked embarrassed. "Now and again."

"Wow." Riley shook his head in disbelief. "Talk about taking a walk on the dark side."

Buffy fixed him with a look. "If it's the moral high ground you're after I'd back down that route pretty fast."

"I'm sorry, it's just – we had no idea there were other viewers." He hesitated for a moment, still shaking his head. "Look, we set it up. It's subliminally coded – a sort of selective mind control, if you like."

Buffy's eyes flashed. "If I _like_? You're telling me I've been brainwashed. I think 'like' might be overselling it."

Riley pulled himself as upright as the sofa would allow. "Brainwashed? Hardly. We just manipulated a few memories. Look, he's had a couple of details from his past edited. I guess – I guess that's what's happened with you." He continued before Buffy could reply. "It's not irreversible. Just leave off Passions, and it'll right itself soon enough."

Spike's face had darkened, and Buffy was about to say something more when Zippy gave an exaggerated yawn and Bungle tugged at Riley's combats.

"When does he get rescued by the beautiful princess?"

Riley got up to leave. "I shouldn't have told you this. I just – I thought you'd already blown our cover. The data's compromised now, so I'm gonna have to take Hostile 17 here for recycling." He turned back to Buffy, his shoulders suddenly stooped. "Unless you want him?"

Buffy met his gaze, steely-eyed. "I'll take him."

Riley nodded and marched out, leaving the three on the rug staring after him, bemused.

"Did they all live happily ever after?" George enquired, anxiously.

Buffy turned to them. "Zippy, Bingo - "

"Bungle," Spike amended.

"Bungle. George. I need a word with your...um...with Spike."

"Skadaddle!" Spike instructed, waving a hand towards the door.

Geoffrey got up from the table. "Come on," he said, "Let's go and play in the garden."

Jane followed them to the door.

Buffy leaned over the arm of her chair. "Wait, Jane – Rod said something before about Spike having a – um – thing?"

Jane nodded. "He has a chip in his head. It means he can't hurt humans. Except when you let him make the tea, that is." She grinned. "Honestly, compared to Mr Chip-On-His-Shoulder who dropped in just now, a chip in the head's not such a big deal. It was nice to meet you, Buffy."

She made her way out, leaving the Slayer and her one-time vampire nemesis facing one another across the rug.

"Spike."

"Buffy."

"You're coming back with me."

"You can drive, can you?"

"Technically, no."

"Then technically, you're coming back with me."

"Fine," Buffy assented, "but we end up anywhere but Sunnydale and I will personally recycle you."

Spike cocked his head, looking as if he was enjoying the threat more than she had intended. He wanted clarification on one point, though.

"Sunnydale? Is that sunny as in, vampire barbecue sunny?"

"That's sunny as in, one fully-furnished luxury all-underground crypt going spare, since it looks like Geoffrey's staying here, sunny."

"Right." He thought for a moment. "Two things. One: if I come back with you, you don't get to call me sonny. Ever. And two: last time we talked about this, I think you were the Slayer?"

Buffy looked straight back at him. "You can't kill me; I don't kill you. That's how it works."

"OK, but just – give me a minute. Gotta say goodbye."

"Fine, but no snacking. What? I know your kind."

Spike leaned in towards her. "I'm one of a kind. Remember that."

"I have a horrible feeling that sooner or later, I will," Buffy responded, pulling back a little. "Spike, do you remember – anything – about before?"

He looked down, rubbing the back of his head.

"I'd have this dream, sometimes. Always the same story."

"Tell me about it," Buffy entreated.

Spike smiled and shook his head. "You know the one. Little blonde girl, breaks in and turns everything upside down."

A glimmer of a smile crossed Buffy's face as Spike rose to his feet and held out his hand towards her.

"C'mon, Goldilocks, let's get this show on the road."


End file.
